


Ace of Hearts

by RoyGoodeRoyGreat



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Explicit Language, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Guns, M/M, Mutual Pining, OMC - Freeform, Organized Crime, Organized Crime AU, but they're they're in LOVE, idiots to lovers, mention of strip clubs, mention of violence, these boys are so dumb I swear to god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyGoodeRoyGreat/pseuds/RoyGoodeRoyGreat
Summary: The Aces own Vegas. Their names may not be on the deed, but it’s their money flowing through casinos, getting tucked into lingerie, and passing between furtive hands in unlit alleys. Kent Parson knows his way around a conference room, around a poker table, and around a gun, but after eight years in Vegas, he still doesn’t know what to say to the man who may just hold his heart.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jeff "Swoops" Troy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48
Collections: OMGCP Reverse Bang 2020





	Ace of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [btrandbeyond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/btrandbeyond/gifts).



> I'm so excited I got to write this for the incredibly talented 

Kent swirled his drink in his glass, the giant cube in the center clinking. He still thrilled, quietly, at the way the reflections of the bright lights on the Strip danced around the glass. It had been nearly eight years since he had dragged himself to this desert oasis, both Montreal and New York no longer able to hold him. And what a kingdom he’d built. 

The Aces held stakes in the three most profitable casinos on the Strip. They were all under fake names, false corporations with paper trails that would lead anyone who looked on loop after loop around the world, but they were his. His and his friends’. His family. That was what the Aces had become in the years since he’d lucked into finding them. 

Major, his Ace of Diamonds, was like an older brother to him. His cool head tempered Kent’s own impulsiveness. The true brains of the organization, he had masterminded their climb to the top of the Vegas scene. He was able to take Kent’s half-baked dreams and fantasies and turn them into reality. Kent would still be scrounging through the dangerous underbelly of the Strip without him. With near-legendary charm, he was able to put anyone at ease, from casino executives to the foreign investors they worked alongside as shareholders. He and Kent shared the duties of being the faces of the organization, but Major was definitely the favorite.

The Ace of Spades, Scrappy, was one of Kent’s favorite finds, though he could never tell him that. If he did, the man Kent had come to think of as his annoying little brother would never shut up about it. More of a wildcard than any other member of the Aces, Kent had “found” Scrappy when the kid tried to pickpocket him four years ago. Eighteen and new to Vegas, Scrappy hadn’t had any idea who he was dealing with that day. The smooth-talking little shit had won him over almost instantly and Kent had put him to work, winning his trust with little more than the promise of a place to stay. Scrappy had since worked his way up in the ranks of the Aces, running operations on the streets he’d come to know like the back of his hand. That didn’t stop his sticky fingers, of course, and Kent still had to keep an eye on his own belongings. Not that Scrappy ever stole anything from him, more like he just moved shit around or hid absurd little presents for Kent to find. Kent had to work to keep a smile off his face every time he found one of Scrappy’s calling cards, each in a place more absurd than the last.

Head of security and thus the Ace of Clubs, Swoops was the strong and stable force that really held them all together. He was relentless in his mission to ensure the Aces’s safety, though he seemed to take Kent’s safety even more seriously. Swoops insisted on driving Kent everywhere he went, for “safety.” He’d apparently once attempted to offer Major the same services, but the older man swore that he’d rather ride a bike around the city than get in a car with Swoops behind the wheel. Of course, Swoops _had_ earned his nickname from his drag-racing days, and he still _occasionally_ (read, frequently) demonstrated his legendary drifting abilities when the streets were empty or not-so-empty, but Kent thought it was fun. Swoops was the best friend Kent had ever had; he was loyal, kind, funny, compassionate, and more than willing to put up with Kent’s bullshit. Swoops had been by his side since the beginning. He was the only reason he was part of the Aces. Major had been on the fence about bringing Kent in, and rightfully so. Kent had shown up in Vegas at 19, an emotional wreck, his knowledge of the business peripheral at best. But Swoops had seen something in him and eventually convinced Major to see it too. They’d grown close over the last eight years, close enough that Kent couldn’t imagine a future without him. He loved all of the Aces. The organization was his family. He’d killed for them and he’d do it again, without hesitation. But with Swoops, sometimes he couldn’t help but wish for something more.

That left Kent as the Ace of Hearts. Well, he felt that was the title he’d gotten simply because it was leftover, but Scrappy assured him that he’d earned it. Whereas Major was the brains of the Aces, he said Kent was the heart. And, true, the Aces had been barely above a street gang running strip clubs before Kent joined them, but he couldn’t have brought them up to their current level without the rest of the Aces. Major said he got it because he was a hot-headed, volatile, stubborn prick and also the only person alive he’d trust to do his job. One of his former rivals had said it was because he was a pretty-boy who’d probably fucked his way to the top, but, well, the opinions of corpses didn’t really matter. Kent had only been mad that it was Swoops who could claim that kill rather than him. A lot of people had a lot of reasons to call Kent the Ace of Hearts. Privately, Kent liked Swoops’s explanation the best. 

“It’s ‘cause you lead with your heart,” his friend had told him late one night when they were both drunk on Kent’s couch.

“Aw, Swoopsy,” Kent slurred.

Swoops had snickered in response. “Course, sometimes it might be...more helpful if you lead with head so I wouldn’t have to keep bailing your dumb ass out.”

Kent had laughed and leaned his head onto Swoops’s shoulder. “But what’s the fun in that?” he murmured as Swoops let his head flop over on top of his.

It should have been just another chill night with his best friend. God knows they’d spent countless nights drunk on each other’s couches, talking about everything and nothing. Nights with Swoops were Kent’s favorite nights, from way back in the beginning of his time in Vegas when his shitty little apartment didn’t even have proper windows to nights like this one, spent staring out over the Strip from his high-rise loft. But that night, nearly four years ago now, Kent felt something shift inside him. He had always felt safe with Swoops around, but in that moment he felt more than just safe. He felt at home. Like nestled up on the couch with Swoops was where he was always meant to be. 

Kent turned from the Strip to track a plane as it began its descent towards McCarran. Swoops was due to return from visiting family on the east coast within the hour. The son of a loud-mouthed Irish Bostonian and a no-nonsense Ukrainian immigrant, Swoops has always described his life growing up as “colorful.” He had unfortunately only felt like he was able to come out to his mom and sister after his father died of a sudden heart attack a few years ago, but he was slowly rebuilding his relationship with his mom. His sister had supported him from the beginning, but their mother had deep prejudices to unlearn. They’d barely spoken the first year, which Kent knew had torn Swoops apart, but when he’d texted him the day before, he said the trip was _actually going really really great_. 

Kent’s own parents had accepted him when he came out at 18, that disastrous summer when his whole life had fallen apart. He tried to remember to call them at least once a week, but it often ended up being closer to once a month. They’d never been close, not since they’d shipped him off to spend his formative years at a private school in Montreal. He knew that his parents had worked hard to offer him that opportunity, but sometimes, in the middle of the night, laying alone in the middle of his too-big bed, Kent wondered what his life would have been like if he’d never heard the name Zimmermann. If he’d never fallen into those deep blue eyes. If he’d never fallen in love with that teasing smirk and that sweet, breathy laugh and those powerful yet gentle hands. But then he’d spend the next day with Swoops or Scrappy or Major or any of the Aces and he’d think that maybe things had happened the way they were supposed to.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, Kent tore his eyes away from the airport to look back at the Strip. That shining, pulsing mess was his. His hard-won prize. His home. 

“Ow, wha—?” 

Kent turned to look back through the half-open sliding glass door that led out to his balcony. Scrappy frowned down at Kit where she was sprawled across his lap, belly-up. She looked up at Kent as he stepped through the door, contemplating him over her considerable fluff, and meowed innocently. 

“What’d you do to my cat?” Kent asked, setting his mostly empty glass down on the side table next to the couch. 

“ _She_ bit _me_ ,” Scrappy protested, still glaring down at the cat in question.

“You must’ve pissed her off.” Kent took one more long look out at the Strip before closing the door with a thunk. He didn’t bother with the lock, thinking about how Swoops would’ve frowned and walked over to flick it into place ostentatiously. Smirking, he walked around the couch towards the kitchen.

“Just been petting her,” Scrappy muttered. “She liked it for a while.” 

Kent sighed as he bent to pick up Kit’s mostly cleaned-out food bowl. “Well, clearly, you did something wrong, otherwise my perfect angel princess wouldn’t’ve bit you.” He could practically hear Scrappy’s answering eyeroll.

“By the way, that was your last can of Kit’s boujee-ass cat food.”

“What?” Kent demanded. He ripped open the pantry and confirmed that it was, in fact, devoid of the perfectly reasonable wet cat food he fed Kit for dinner. “Why didn’t Sandra go to the store?” he asked, trying to remember the last time he’d even seen his personal shopper. 

“Sandra?” Scrappy asked, laughter in his voice. “Maybe because you fired her two weeks ago."

“Oh.” Kent squinted at the pantry, hoping he could somehow will cat food into existence. “Why did I…?”

“I dunno, you yelled a lot,” Scrappy answered. “Something about ‘don’t touch my cat.’”

Kent hummed in the affirmative, remembering, finally. He’d been having a busy month. Looking over at Scrappy, he found the younger man with one hand once more entangled in Kit’s fluff, the other scrolling through his phone. He must have sensed him looking at him, because he met his eyes with a bemused look. “Pretty sure you pulled a gun on her, bro,” Scrappy drawled.

“Yeah, well,” Kent sighed, closing the pantry, “that’s what happens when you kick my cat.”

“No way she kicked Kit,” Scrappy scoffed. 

He was right to doubt the story. If anyone ever _had_ kicked Kit, Kent certainly wouldn’t let them walk away. But that didn’t mean someone could roughly shove her out of the way with their foot and still continue to work for him. “So, you’re telling me you knew I didn't have a personal shopper for two weeks and didn’t do anything about it?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Scrappy grinned, the right side of his mouth pulling up higher than the left, the skin there crinkling around the scar that slashed down his cheek. “Wanted to see how long it would take you to notice.”

Kent groaned in disgust. Typical. “Don’t you have your own fucking apartment?” 

Scrappy just grinned wider. “Mine doesn’t have a cat.”

Now it was Kent’s turn to roll his eyes. “Then fucking get a cat, Scraps.”

“I like Kit,” Scrappy said simply. He smiled down at her as she glared back up at him. 

“You were literally just complaining about her.”

Scrappy scooped Kit up, holding her under her two front legs, and pressed her cheek to his so they were both staring at Kent. “But she loves me.” 

Kit let out a long and angry meow that started in the back of her throat and ended with her batting Scrappy’s face (claws retracted, thank god). 

Yelping in surprise, Scrappy let Kit go. She landed on her feet and stalked away from him to curl up on the other end of the couch. “Kitty cat…” Scrappy whined. “You betrayed me.” 

“Yeah, she adores you,” Kent deadpanned. He pulled out his phone to check the time. Swoops’s flight was supposed to land around 11:30. Not that he had to worry about picking him up. The man insisted on driving himself to and from the airport, leaving his car in a parking garage that Kent could really only describe as stupid expensive. Swoops refused to let anyone drive his car and would certainly never deign to take a goddamn Uber. 

“So when does it land?” Scrappy asked. 

Kent looked up from his phone and frowned. “What?”

Scrappy smirked at him again. “The plane you were looking for.” 

“What…” Kent started, feeling a blush starting at the base of his throat. There was no way Scrappy could know. “What are you talking about?”

Rolling his eyes, Scrappy stood and walked over to the sliding glass door. He flicked the lock into place and raised his eyebrows at Kent, just the way he’d imagined Swoops might have. “When does Swoops get in?” he asked slowly. 

Fighting to keep his face blank, Kent tucked his phone back into his pocket. “None of your business.”

Scrappy scoffed. “I don’t get to know when Swoops gets home?” he asked, his voice full of laughter. 

Kent could feel his blush getting deeper, so he turned away and stalked further into the kitchen. “I’ll just keep that information to myself and see how long it takes you to figure it out.” He could hear Scrappy laughing as he made a show of picking out another glass and filling it with water. Opening the fridge to try and start a mental grocery list (and hide his face from Scrappy, but whatever), Kent tried to figure out when he could find time to go to the grocery store. Then he tried to remember when the last time he’d gone to the grocery store for anything other than a smoothie and a protein bar. 

“Trying to figure out if you can feed Kit your leftovers?” Scrappy asked, walking up behind him. 

“No,” Kent snapped as he turned to glare at the young man. “I’m trying to figure out when the fuck I’m gonna go to the grocery store since you decided to be a useless asshole.”

Scrappy laughed again, then clapped Kent on the shoulder. “Love you too, Parse.” He gave him a mock salute as he headed to the door. “See ya tomorrow.” 

“Bye,” Kent muttered. When he heard his front door close he let go of the refrigerator door with a sigh. Alone in his apartment, he could feel the exhaustion hanging on him. Deciding to put off worrying about the grocery store until tomorrow, he shuffled into the living room and scooped up Kit from the couch. She nestled her head under his chin and started purring, making his heart swell. Adopting this ten-pound fluff-monster was the best decision he’d ever made. He took one last look at the Strip before striding off to his room. 

*

Kent woke up to his doorbell chiming, which was weird enough that it took him what could be called an embarrassing amount of time to figure out what was happening. He pulled on the t-shirt he’d flung onto his desk chair the night before and stumbled to the door. Bleary-eyed and pissy, he was mercifully greeted by a neat collection of brown paper bags instead of a person. 

Kneeling down to inspect the bags, he found they were full of groceries. One bag was full of several stacks of Kit’s “boujee-ass” cat food. He lugged the bags into his kitchen and unloaded them, trying to remember when he’d ordered groceries. Most of the items were pretty standard things he kept in his kitchen, but the eggplant and Moose Tracks ice cream threw him for a loop. 

He glanced at the clock over the stove and decided eight in the morning was too early to try and unravel this mystery. When he flopped back into his bed, his phone bounced off one of his pillows and onto the comforter next to his arm. The motion made his screen light up to show a text notification from Scrappy. Thumbing it open, he saw that he’d sent him a screenshot of a delivery notification captioned, _ur welcome_. 

Kent sighed fondly. _I_ _guess you’re not entirely useless after all_ , he replied. He struggled out of his shirt and laid back down. An answering buzz made him pick up his phone again. 

_I used ur card_ 😘 

Sitting up, Kent frowned down at the text. He sighed again, this time out of frustration, as he got up and stalked through his apartment, looking for his wallet. He found it on the coffee table, right in front of where Scrappy had sat the night before. Sure enough, when he pulled his most-used credit card out of its slot, it was accompanied by a little square of paper with a smiley face drawn on it. Scrappy’s calling card. Which, if Kent looked at the back, was actually half of someone else’s business card. 

Kent rolled his eyes and let the wallet flop onto the couch. Shuffling back to the warmth of his bed, he tapped out his reply. _Touch my shit again and I’ll cut off your hand._ Scrappy’s reply came fast. 

_lol yeah. I’ll pick up my ice cream later._

“Fucking…” Kent muttered. He set his phone to Do Not Disturb and fell back into bed. 

*

Jeff pressed the call button on the elevator and met his own gaze in the polished silver doors. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to surreptitiously give himself a once-over. Certainly not the sharpest dresser in the Aces, he still thought he looked okay in classic Vans, nice jeans that hugged his ass and thighs, and a crisp white t-shirt. Or maybe a button-down would have been better, even if it had short sleeves. Try to look like an adult for once, Jeffrey. Though the sleeves of this shirt were snug around his biceps in a definitely adult way. Maybe a sweater would have been better? The green one his sister said made his eyes look nice? No, it’s Vegas in September. It’s a good look. It’s a classic look. Kent always looked at him anyway, or at least—Jeff squashed that line of thought. 

The elevator bell dinged as the doors slid open. Buzzing his lips, Jeff stepped in, already reaching for the door close button. 

“Swoopsy!” an unmistakable voice called from near the doors, shattering the carefully cultivated silence of the upscale lobby. 

Just managing to avoid pressing the button, Jeff sighed and turned around. Scrappy gave him a jaunty wave as he strolled towards the elevators. He winked at the woman behind the counter as he grabbed a mint from the bowl in front of her. She just stared back at him, clearly still shocked that someone had dared to shout in her pristine lobby. 

Scrappy held out a fist for Jeff to bump as he stepped into the elevator. “Hey, bro. What time’d your flight get in last night?” he asked. 

Jeff tapped his fist to Scrappy’s. “Uh, about 11:30.” Of course, he hadn’t gotten home until nearly two. His baggage hadn’t come down on the carousel because it was mixed in with the oversized bags for some fucking reason. Then he’d had to argue with the valet at the garage where he’d parked his car because he just wanted to walk the damn thirty feet to his car from the lobby instead of having a stranger who didn’t know or respect his baby the way he did pull it around for him. He’d ended up just slapping a twenty down on the podium and walking away, but it still wasted time. Then, what would Vegas be without random street closures that turned his fifteen minute drive into a forty minute odyssey complete with an unsatisfying pit stop at Burger King. 

Jeff knew it was his job to blend into the crowd, but it was nights like those when he wished he was one of the more recognizable Aces. People practically fell all over themselves to please Kent and Major and, hell, sometimes even Scrappy, although the people who wanted to keep him happy were really only worried about word getting back to Kent. Vegas residents treated the Aces so well that even tourists stared at them reverently. The other guys didn’t have to put up with snarky attendants and belligerent fast food workers. But if it meant he could keep Kent safe, he’d put up with that much and more every single day for the rest of his life. 

“Kent missed you,” Scrappy said suddenly. 

Startled, Jeff snapped his gaze up from the floor and over to the pickpocket. Scrappy lounged against the opposite wall of the elevator car, unwrapping his mint. “What?” Jeff asked, not sure he’d heard Scrappy right. 

“Parser missed you. While you were gone,” he explained. “I caught him looking over at the airport last night, like he was looking for something. Or someone.” Scrappy raised one eyebrow in an expression that he’d no doubt picked up from Kent. 

“Um…” Jeff started, unsure what to do with this information. His heart felt like it was trying to break out of his ribcage. Kent missed him? Well, of course Kent missed him. They were friends. Friends miss their friends when they go on trips. But do friends stare wistfully at the airport the night their friend is supposed to get home? Wait, Scrappy hadn’t said wistfully. Did he mean wistfully? What does looking for someone look like? Is that—

“Y’all don’t think I notice things,” Scrappy said, the mint clinking against his teeth, “but I’ve gotta notice everything to do what I do, you know. Gotta be observant. Just because I don’t always _tell_ you what I’m seeing doesn’t mean I’m not seeing it.” He left Jeff to deal with that revelation as the elevator doors opened onto Kent’s floor. Jeff actually stood there staring after him for so long that the doors started to close again. 

After shoving the doors back open, Jeff jogged to catch up with Scrappy. “Wait, wait. What are you not telling me?” he asked as Scrappy unlocked Kent’s door with his spare key. 

Scrappy merely smirked at him and said, “I think that you, Jeffrey, need to focus more on what I _am_ telling you.” With that, he pushed open the door and immediately had to wrangle a meowing Kit. He scooped her up and handed her to Jeff. “Here, she missed you too.”

Arms full of fluff, Jeff followed Scrappy into Kent’s apartment. Everything looked basically the same as when he left, but he hadn’t expected Kent to change anything anyway. The security cameras he’d installed up in the corners of the ceiling were still there, little blue lights turning red as they registered his and Scrappy’s movements through the apartment. As they reached the living room, Jeff could see that the sliding glass door was locked. Probably Scrappy had been the one to lock it last night, since Kent seemed to think that being on the 27th floor protected him from any outside attack. 

Kit jumped out of Jeff’s arms as he passed by the couch. She curled up on top of a pillow, closing her eyes almost immediately. Jeff smiled down at her then continued following Scrappy as he made his way to Kent’s office. 

Jeff could hear the deep rumbling of Major’s voice through the door as they got close. He’d been hoping for a moment alone with Kent, maybe to tell him that thing that his sister had tried to convince him he should say, but between Scrappy catching up with him in the elevator and Major being early that wasn’t likely to happen. 

“...they think they are, but we’re gonna have to remind them who the fuck _we_ are.” Kent’s voice spilled out of his office as Scrappy opened the door. Something about it settled Jeff, telling him he was really home. 

“Oh, hey,” Kent said simply, his eyes skipping over Scrappy to land on Jeff. He gave him a small smile and Jeff could have sworn that some tension leaked out of his stance. His gaze lingered for another moment before he blinked and shook his head slightly, turning back to Scrappy. He pointed at the younger man and raised a brow at him. “You gonna keep your hands off my shit today?” 

Scrappy flashed a shit-eating grin. “Sure thing, boss,” he drawled. 

Kent rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. Jeff shot Scrappy a questioning look, but got only a smirk in response. 

Major knocked an elbow against Jeff’s shoulder. “Welcome back, Swoops.” 

Jeff clapped the big man on the shoulder and looked back and forth between him and Kent. “So who needs to be reminded who the fuck we are?” 

Kent huffed in disgust. “Some little shits called the Cobras.”

“They were trying to poach dancers from the Diamond last night,” Major explained. “Got laughed out of the building, apparently, ‘cause they couldn’t compete with what we’re giving them.” 

“Still have to teach them a lesson,” Kent muttered. He stared down at his desk, half zoned-out as he thought. 

Scrappy laughed through his nose. “You could always roll up to their headquarters to talk to their leader, then shoot him in the middle of his sentence like you did to that asshole who called Major the n word.”

Kent opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. 

“Or,” Major drawled, “you could shoot the knees off a couple of their goons like you did when those guys messed up Scrappy’s pretty face.” 

“Hey, I’m still pretty,” Scrappy protested. 

“You could always send a poisoned fruit bouquet, that was an instant classic,” Jeff joined in. 

Kent held up a hand. “Okay—”

“Or you could go on a super-crazy internet stalking spree and dig up some ridiculous shit to blackmail them with,” Scrappy interjected. “That one was my favorite.”

Rolling his eyes, Kent said, “I—”

“Of course, they would’ve had to have done something worth blackmailing, which you’re super-crazy internet stalking doesn’t always turn up,” Major said, smirking at Kent. 

“All right! All right,” Kent shouted. “I get it. I’ve done some shit. Which these fuckers _obviously_ have not been made aware of.” He pointed at Scrappy and said, “That’s on your guys. Put the word out to talk, and talk loud. Find these Cobra fucks and push them back. We’re not giving up a goddamn inch of space. And if you could find out where they’re holed up, that’d be much appreciated.” 

“Aye-aye, captain,” Scrappy said with a jaunty salute. 

Kent rolled his eyes and waved his hand at Scrappy dismissively. “Okay, fuck off and take your sticky fingers with you.” 

Scrappy laughed. “You love my sticky fingers,” he protested even as he backed towards the door. 

“Only when they’re sticking to other people’s money,” Kent shot back. 

Major chuckled and shook his head. He glanced at Jeff, then gave Kent a meaningful look. “I’ll go with him. I can ask the dancers at the Diamond for descriptions. Aaliyah trusts me more.” 

“Aw, come on, I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter,” Scrappy griped from the hallway. 

“I would like to point out that you are the one who called yourself a baby in this situation,” Major teased as he followed Scrappy out of the office. He left the door open and Jeff could hear the two of them chirping each other until the front door opened and shut. 

Jeff took a deep breath to steady himself. Well, he’d got what he wanted. A moment alone with Kent. What the fuck did he do with it?

*

Kent listened to Scrappy and Major argue their way out the door. Major didn’t have to go with Scrappy. Though it was true that Aaliyah, who ran the club, did trust Major a hell of a lot more than she trusted Scrappy, the Diamond didn’t open for hours. Major would have nothing to do. But Kent hadn’t missed the look the older man gave him on his way out the door. 

“So, uh,” Swoops started, rubbing the back of his neck, “Scrap said you missed me.”

 _That little shit_ , Kent thought. He spun his glass on its coaster, trying to stall for time. Swoops looked every bit as uncomfortable as Kent felt. But when he glanced up at Kent, he could have sworn there was hope in his eyes. Was there a chance Swoops felt the same way? The thought nearly took his breath away. Major had seemed pretty convinced that just telling Swoops how he felt would solve all of his problems. Had Major talked to Swoops? Were they talking about him behind his back? Oh, god, did Major already tell Swoops how he felt? Swoops was still looking at him expectantly. And he didn’t...he didn’t look mad.

“Yeah,” Kent croaked, his voice barely scraping out of his mouth. He cleared his throat and tried again, already feeling a blush creeping its way up his neck. “Yeah.” _Smooth, Parson_.

Swoops bit his lip and shoved his hands into his pockets. “‘Cause…you like to know where I am?” he asked slowly.

And, fair. Kent checked in with his guys pretty frequently. But he wasn’t trying to be controlling. He hoped Swoops didn’t think he was controlling. He hoped Swoops didn’t notice that he was staring at his lips. Oh, shit, he was staring at—Kent flicked his eyes back up to meet Jeff’s gaze, and found that same intoxicating flicker of hope. “No,” Kent said, equally slowly. “Because I like...when you’re here.”

“In Vegas?” Swoops tried to clarify. The light in his eyes seemed to grow slightly. 

“Well, um…” Kent started awkwardly, “I, uh...I like when you’re with me.” God this was worse than the ninth grade dance when Melanie couldn’t decide if she wanted to dance with Kent or Jack and Kent couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss her or kill her.

“You do?” Swoops asked, genuine joy in his voice. He cleared his throat and reigned it back in when he forced out, “I, uh, like when I’m with you...too.” 

Kent’s heart leaped to his throat, then fell to the pit of his stomach, then did loop-de-loops in his chest. It sounded like Swoops meant it how he meant it. At least, if Swoops realized how he meant it, then he was saying he felt the same way. Kent didn’t know where to put his hands. Where did normal people put their hands? What had he just been doing with his hands?

His eyes landed on the glass paperweight on his desk. It was half a sphere with little bursts of color inside. Swoops had got it for him a few birthdays ago. Said it was his own personal firework. Kent picked it up gently, running a thumb back and forth over its smooth surface as he slowly walked around to the front of his desk. He looked up and saw Swoops staring at the paperweight in his hands. “I always loved this,” Kent said, gesturing with the paperweight.

The word “loved” sent a jolt through Swoops. “I—I...I’m glad you love it,” he stuttered. 

Kent nodded and looked back down at the paperweight. Swoops always knew what he liked. He knew all his favorite foods, his favorite music, his favorite trashy TV shows. He knew when Kent needed someone to listen to him and when he needed someone else to just talk for a while. He knew which flowers made him sneeze and made sure the Aces never used them for anything. He knew what shape pasta he liked. He knew what movie to put on when Kent started thinking about Montreal too much. Hell, Swoops knew about Montreal. All of it. He was the only one other than Jack who knew everything about him. 

And Kent knew everything about Swoops. And he liked knowing everything about Swoops. He liked sharing their lives. He loved sharing their lives.

Taking a deep breath, Kent looked up from the paperweight in his hands. “Swoops?”

And then he was there. Swoops crossed the room in three long strides and took Kent’s face in his hands. He looked into his eyes for half a moment, but it was long enough for him to see the truth in his own eyes reflected back at him. When their lips met, Kent was again struck with that feeling of home, like he belonged with Swoops and Swoops belonged with him. How long they stood there kissing tentatively, gently, Kent didn’t know, but the kiss left him gasping for air. He stared up into Swoops’s eyes and felt safe and loved and in love. 

Suddenly needing to put his hands on him, Kent set the paperweight on the desk behind him and fisted his hands in Swoops’s shirt. He pulled him back into another kiss, this one searing where the other one had been tentative, hungry where the other had been gentle. He flattened his hands on Swoops’s chest and smoothed out his shirt. He ran his hands down his ribs and around to his back, pulling him closer, closer so he could feel his whole body against his. Swoops sighed through his nose and deepened the kiss even further.

“Finally.” 

Swoops broke the kiss and whipped his head around to glare behind him. Kent could see Scrappy over Swoops’s shoulder.

“I told you to fuck off!” Kent shouted, not breaking the embrace.

“Came back to get my ice cream,” Scrappy replied, lifting up the carton of Moose Tracks.

“Well, your ice cream sure as fuck wasn’t in my office,” Kent shot back.

“I thought Major was babysitting you,” Swoops said. He took one hand off Kent’s face and slid the other down to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck in a way that Kent decided he definitely liked.

“Ditched him in the lobby.” Scrappy smirked and tossed his ice cream back and forth between his hands. “He got out of the elevator and I came back up. Classic.”

“Well, leave, now,” Kent sputtered. “Jesus. And take your damn eggplant with you, I don’t know why you bought that.”

Scrappy smiled wider. “Got it so you could give your eggplant to Swoops.” He ducked out of the hallway and beat a hasty retreat to the front door, laughing at his own joke.

Kent stammered wordlessly for a full thirty seconds before giving up and resting his forehead on Swoops’s shoulder. He felt the other man turn back to him and plant a kiss in his hair. “I can make you eggplant parmesan,” he said softly.

His heart full, Kent lifted his face to kiss Swoops’s neck. “I’d love that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and please check out the beautiful art posted on [pwoops's tumblr](https://pwoops.tumblr.com/) and the [omgcpreversebang blog](https://omgcpreversebang.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> I enjoyed writing this so much. The length really got away from me. I wanted to write even more, especially more about Major, but I ran out of time! He plays a much bigger role in my head. I hope you all enjoyed what I was able to give you. It wouldn't have been possible without pwoops's incredible art and prompt.


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